
28September/October 2015
haven’t even told their GP about the pro-
cedure, never mind their friends or
family. It’s considered impolite to bring
it up socially, and there’s a deafening
sound of silence at the top: when the
Journal.ie recently asked TDs if they
would personally favour repealing the
eighth amendment, most of them
declined to answer.
If we’re not talking about our own
abortion laws, the international com-
munity certainly is. Media giant Vice
recently established ‘Broadly’, a wom-
en’s interest channel. Its website
published a long and stringent feature
on Ireland’s abortion laws in August. Its
entirely verifiable claims that “bizarre
demonstrations involving sellotape as a
metaphor for the dangers of sexual
activity are permitted [in Irish schools],
but workshops to prevent homophobic
bullying are not” in effect make us look
ridiculous.
International coverage of the Ms Y
case makes us look inhumane. The Inde-
pendent in the UK wrote of Ms Y saying
she: “thought she’d finally reached
safety…[after she was] kidnapped and
forced into sexual slavery by the head of
a paramilitary organisation...she didn’t
know that her new home’s draconian
abortion laws were going to trap her
into having a baby she didn’t ask for,
and drive her to the point of suicide”.
Guardian columnist, Jessica Valenti,
has noted how “Ireland’s laws are tor-
turing women”, and Ireland is being
referenced in stories about Paraguay’s
recent case where a ten-year-old was
raped by her stepfather and had a forced
C-section: “It doesn’t just happen over
there”. In articles about Republican
misogyny in the upcoming US election
Ireland’s inhumane abortion laws get
another mention: “As Irish doctors did
in the tragic Savita Halapannavar case,
you could always let both [mother and
fetus] die”.
Many Irish people are unaware that to
seek an abortion in Ireland carries a
prison sentence of up to years. To put
that in context, if a woman is raped and
seeks an abortion, she could spend more
than twice as long in prison as her
attacker (rape sentences tend to be five
to seven years, according to the recently
defunded Dublin Rape Crisis Centre, or
nothing at all sometimes, even if you
confess). Perhaps one of the most con-
cerning things about this fourteen-year
sentence is that it isn’t a legacy from
previous generations – it was brought in
in .
Certainly in Iceland, they are aware.
At the end of August, the Icelandic
branch of Amnesty International staged
a protest, their members sitting in cages
in prison clothing with placards saying
W
HEN the gay marriage
referendum passed in
May, Ireland was hailed
internationally as being
“in the vanguard of
equality”.
To go from being barely liberal
enough to legalise divorce in ,
years after most other European coun-
tries, to becoming the first country in
the world to legalise gay marriage by
popular vote in manifested a huge
cultural change, and shows clearly that
the Ireland of the s was not the
Ireland most people want to live in
today. Shortly after the marriage refer-
endum, a progressive Transgender
Recognition Act was passed.
But despite progress on LGBT rights,
our abortion laws continue to attract
opprobrium internationally. Less than a
month after the Marriage Equality vic-
tory, we suffered the international
humiliation of being flagged by both the
United Nations and Amnesty Interna-
tional as being out of line with
international human rights standards.
We’re not good at talking about abor-
tion in Ireland. Alongside the march for
choice, the Abortion Rights Campaign
also organise an annual ‘Speak-Out’: a
space where women who have obtained
an abortion legally or illegally share
their experiences. Irish society’s failure
to engage in a realistic conversation
about abortion means a staunch anti-
abortion minority is given a platform,
from where they shame into silence the
tens of thousands of women who have
left Ireland to get abortions.
Women at our Speak-Out often
Ireland’s abortion laws in perspective. By Cathie Doherty
Through a global lens
POLITICS